Exile's Honor

'Alert remain!' Alberich growled to the remaining bodyguards, and dragged himself back up into the saddle, though a gray film of exhaustion seemed to fog everything.

He made a trumpet of his hands, and shouted what Myste had called out to those with Mindspeech. He was used to bellowing battlefield orders—he put every bit of that into his shout.

'Valdemar! Behold your Queen!'

From that vantage, he watched as slowly, slowly, heads turned toward them, in a wave of motion starting from those nearest the group on the hill until it reached even to where there were knots of fighting still going on.

Myste was right, though; from where he sat, there was more fleeing than fighting, and as combat broke off, those who could still move took advantage of the momentary distraction of their opponents to escape.

There was still a pool of purple between the Valdemaran lines and the hilltop, but it wasn't moving, and the battle banners were nowhere to be seen. Could the Tedrel High Command actually be dead?

:I think so—: Kantor told him, after a moment. :Yes. Your idea worked. The Fetching-Heralds did it, when Sendar died.:

He winced; for a moment he had difficulty breathing. If only they could have done it before—

So many 'if onlys.' Never had a victory felt so much like a defeat.

:The Lord Marshal?: he asked Kantor.

:Coming.:

A strange silence fell over the battlefield; the sunlight glittered on helms, but there wasn't a single raised sword or spearpoint to be seen. The pressure of thousands of eyes was a palpable force that even Alberich, in his exhaustion, felt.

Then it began, weakly at first, but gathering strength, a sound—

—a cheer—

Wordless, inarticulate, torn from the throats of exhausted men and women, grew and grew from a thread to a river, from a river to a torrent, to a wall of sound that surrounded them.

They came, walking, then running, sometimes dropping weapons, but all, all cheering; some weeping while they cheered, but all of them saluting her, their Queen—Valdemar incarnate.

And when they reached her, they reached for her, hands outstretched to touch her, touch Caryo, assure themselves that she was alive, was real. She reached out to them, touching hands, faces, and as each one of them got that assurance, he made way so that others could discover for themselves that their hope still lived.

Caryo began to move forward, one slow and infinitely careful step at a time, taking her through the sea of upturned faces and reaching hands. Alberich and her remaining four bodyguards followed, though what they could do in this press of bodies if anything happened—

:Let anyone so much as breathe harm on her and the army will tear him to pieces,: Kantor said. :She's safer now than she has ever been.:

The Lord Marshal's horse swam through the river of humanity to meet them, and Alberich was immensely grateful to see him. Alberich knew nothing of Courts and politics, and without missing a beat, he and Kantor dropped back to ride just behind and to her right, as the Lord Marshal took the place on her left. He wasn't sure where they were going, except farther into the battlefield, until they got there—and he was having enough trouble staying alert and concentrating on Selenay's back to think about it.

It was slow going, wading through that surging sea of humanity. It must have taken at least a candlemark to get from where they'd been to where they were going. And by that time, the handful of men and women who had not been pressing toward the young Queen had accomplished a great deal....

They passed through a protective ring of Guardsmen into a clear space; the men working there among the fallen stopped what they were doing and respectfully dropped to their knees. There was another pile of Tedrel bodies laid to one side—a very large pile. The bodies of several Guardsmen had been laid out respectfully in a neat row, their weapons in their dead hands clasped on their chests. And the blood-drenched, white bodies of two Companions— Idiot. Of course she'd come here first.

Selenay slid from Caryo's back to kneel at her dead father's side.

They'd already laid him on a stretcher, with his banner draped as a pall across his body. She pulled the fabric